


Tales from Alpha Noir

by navigator_noir (navigatorsghost)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Consent Play, Drinking, Drunk Sex, M/M, Rape Fantasy, Rough Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-03-17 11:58:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18964777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navigatorsghost/pseuds/navigator_noir
Summary: Glimpses of an alternate Transformers universe. Welcome to Alpha Noir, city of the night. [Self-indulgent AU snippets. Darkfic, violence, sticky interfacing; drugs, neon and rain. Readers very welcome but I don't expect this to be popular.]





	1. Introductory Notes

**Context notes:**

_Transformers: Alpha Noir_ is not a direct AU of any existing continuity, but a completely home-built one that draws inspiration from original G1, Beast Wars, a few pieces of IDW, noir, vaporwave and cyberpunk aesthetic, and various things I've seen around on the net. I also owe a credit to Moonspell, whose magnificent album  _Alpha Noir_ gave me a setting name and a working title.

**The setting:**

As the planet Cybertron died slowly and quietly of energy depletion, the Cybertronian race fled their fading homeworld in vast colony ships that scattered across the galaxy in all directions. Now, millions of years later, "Cybertronian" is a loose term used for all mechs who claim lineage from the original children of Primus, whatever world they were forged on. Cybertronian colony worlds are of many kinds, from barbaric deathworlds inhabited by tribal, half-feral mech-warriors to peaceful strongholds of learning and art, but all Cybertronians are united by two things: the dimly remembered myths of their lost homeworld, and the "sparks" that make them noted throughout the galaxy as the only machine race to possess true souls. There are no factions as such, due to the wide dispersion of Cybertronians and the varying cultures they have developed, but most strains of Cybertronian are significantly smaller than their legendary ancestors (similar to the Maximals and Predacons of Beast Wars) and integrated to varying degrees with the many other races of the galaxy.

The eponymous Alpha Noir is a vast spaceport city, a lawless domain where wealth, power and violence form the three pillars of a much-annotated and extensively redacted social contract. From soaring skyscrapers to underground brothels and bath houses, from luxury penthouses to rookery shanty-towns, all dripping with neon and blood and the seemingly endless rain, Alpha Noir's ancient streets hide a million secrets and as many ways to die - and while all the galaxy passes through, only the daring and the desperate stay for long. But for those who know where to look and how to take care of themselves, fame, fortune and pleasure can be had for the asking...

**Protagonist characters:**

_Cyclonus_  [altmode: starfighter jet] - formerly Delta of Strike Team Armada. Built as one of an elite mercenary strike force hired out for high-value assignments by their creator-owner, Delta lost his teammates in a disastrous failed mission. He disappeared in the aftermath and resurfaced with a cosmetic rebuild and a new name, calling himself Cyclonus and working as a solo mercenary specialising in assassinations and bounty hunting. Nihilistic, arrogant and ruthless, he hides a degenerate and decadent inner nature beneath a veneer of sophisticated restraint. While working, he is a consummate professional; off-duty, he can generally be found indulging a taste for mind-altering substances and kinky interfacing. Does not talk about his past.

 _Galvatron_ [altmode: tracked field cannon] - ex-warlord, ex-gladiator, current gun for hire. Forged on one of the most barbaric of the Cybertronian colony worlds, he rose to prominence among the warlike tribes of his homeworld through a potent combination of physical power, intelligence, charisma and utter savagery. He was taken captive when his people were raided by slaver pirates, sold as an arena gladiator, and proceeded to carve out a fearsome reputation before finally killing his way to freedom and vanishing into the more lawless reaches of the galaxy. Loud, boisterous, domineering and impulsive, he makes most people either love him or hate him inside of thirty seconds.

 _Scourge_  [altmode: light hovercraft] - originally a member of a specialist team built to explore the unknown reaches of the galaxy. When they encountered hostile forces in an uncharted region of the galactic rim, Scourge and the group’s transport, the experimental research vessel _Dis_ , were the only survivors. Mentally scarred by his experiences and carrying the burden of his comrades’ deaths, he fell to wandering the galaxy with only the ship for company. His original specialisation was long-range data collection and processing, meaning that he has an extensive suite of exotic sensory hardware; as a consequence, he is often far more aware of what is going on around him than he wants to be, and this makes him reserved, secretive and deeply cynical.

**The stories:**

This 'verse is mostly a place for me to indulge my occasional desires to write dark aesthetic, violence, kinky sex, and generally darker/more mature content than I feel comfortable putting in my G1-cartoon-based Transformers fic. For the moment, this will just be a grab-bag of short pieces, character scenes and so on. All chapters will have individual warnings, but general warnings throughout for: violence, unhealthy coping strategies, trauma, drug use, and graphic and sometimes rough sex. Unlike my regular fic, in this 'verse "sticky" style interfacing is a thing, so please steer clear if you don't like organic-analogue porn.

**Author's note:**

I'm not expecting much in the way of feedback or interest for this 'verse, it's literally just a personal sandbox. The characters are not the G1 characters of the same names, though they have some echoes of both their original-G1 and IDW namesakes. If you read this far and are curious enough to keep going: thank you!

 


	2. Chance Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a mech who was just trying to have a quiet drink gets into a fight, hooks up with a complete stranger, and unwittingly makes an offer that will change his life. Warnings: violence, rough (and drunk) sex, rape/noncon fantasy elements, some (negotiated) consent play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note on sticky-interfacing terminology: I use "connector" and "port" for the standard Cybertronian Tab A and Slot B components. "Spike" as a synonym for "connector" is considered extremely vulgar slang in my 'verses and used only in rough company or in the context of very dirty talk in the berth (so it is, of course, used a few times here).

It was just Alpha Noir's way, Cyclonus thought to himself, that on the one night he'd been looking for nothing more than a peaceful drink, the bar he'd chosen should end up playing host to a brawl.

The fight broke out in the centre of the hot, dimly-lit room and spilled outwards, as violence will when a handful of people choose to start it and everyone in range has to make the instant choice of whether or not to join in. Voices were raised, drinks were thrown, punches followed. Cyclonus, alone at the end of the bar and in no mood to suffer fools gladly, was just on the verge of beating a retreat and going to spend his credits somewhere quieter when a bar stool hit him across the back.

He swung around, combat protocols snapping online, only to see the wielder of the bar stool being demolished by a spectacular left hook from a big, black, scuffed-up gunmech whose dentae flashed silver in a wild grin. Cyclonus caught the other mech's optic, nodded thanks, and waded into the chaos beside him.

It took only minutes for everyone who had the stomach for a fight to be either down or victorious - in most cases over people they didn't even know, but who was counting? Cyclonus, still standing albeit with a dent or two, blew out a huff of air through his vents and shook himself. He was satisfied and surprised at how much better he felt. Seemingly, at least half of his dark mood had simply been down to needing some exercise.

And then a powerful hand came down on the back of his shoulder, with a crash that resonated right through his wings and set his combat-heightened sensornets tingling in a fashion he'd been wholly unprepared for. "Now, _that_ was a fight!" a gleeful voice said. "Who are you and why are we on the same side?"

He turned to find himself facing the black gunformer, meeting crimson optics shining with a bloody delight that he was sure must be echoed in his own. "Cyclonus," he said, "and I haven't the faintest idea." He offered his hand. "But you dropped the sap who hit me with a bar stool, so I figured I owed you."

The bigger mech fairly roared with laughter at that. "Galvatron. A pleasure!" He shook Cyclonus's hand hard enough that Cyclonus felt his wrist rotator creak, but there was clearly no malice in it. "Buy you a drink? If this place has enough glasses left..."

"If not, I can recommend somewhere else," Cyclonus said, smiling as he relaxed into the near-physical force of the other's charisma. The edges of Galvatron's aura tingled against his plating, a touch that would have felt uncomfortably intimate if it hadn't been so obviously artless. The gunformer seemingly had so much power in his systems that he simply couldn't help projecting it, and Cyclonus found himself quietly, unobtrusively soaking it up.

Over the next two hours, one drink turned into two turned into a dozen. Cyclonus was far more over-energised than he'd meant to get, but he couldn't tear himself away. Galvatron was all bravado and enthusiasm and his influence seemed to bring out all the lust for life that Cyclonus had thought long since quenched in himself, and he didn't _want_ to stop drinking and laughing and playing the fool with this loud, brash hellion of a mech who was doing more to lift his spark and mood than anyone had managed in months. He was drunk to the point of recklessness, and knew it.

And also to the point of being tactile; leaning on Galvatron's shoulder, less-than-accidentally brushing a knee against his under the table. Every not-so-casual touch and every word the other mech said sent hot little shivers through him, and he wasn't sure how much of it was touch-starved desperation and how much was simply honest lust. Galvatron's power, his size and weight, his well-worn heavy armour and the huge cannon bolted to his gauntlet like a gleaming metallic metaphor or possibly just shameless advertising... void take it, Cyclonus _wanted_ him. He didn't often want to be topped but when he did get that urge it hit him hard, and right now it was hitting in spades. His imaging centres couldn't let go of the thought of himself underneath Galvatron, pinned by the gunformer's weight, filled with his connector, writhing and cursing in pleasure and defiance with Galvatron gleefully holding him down and making him love it...

"Ground control to Cyclonus! Don't tell me you're passing out on me?"

He blinked at Galvatron and felt his aura flush with betraying heat. "Sorry, what?"

"Oh, you're not dead!" Galvatron chuckled, not even commenting on Cyclonus's embarrassment. "Good, thought I was going to have to carry you home for a moment then."

Cyclonus groaned. Out loud. Why had the other mech had to suggest that? "I'm awake," he said. "But if you want to come home with me anyway I wouldn't say no." Hells with it. The worst he could get for opening his mouth was a punch he'd be too drunk to care about, and _void help him he just wanted to get laid was that really so bad?_

But Galvatron grinned and his optics flashed with fire, and Cyclonus's spark stumbled in its beat. " _Oh,_ " Galvatron breathed, and he leaned in shamelessly close and pressed his thigh hard against Cyclonus's. Cyclonus gasped as the touch disrupted the charge that was already shimmering just beneath his armour, and then Galvatron's left hand dropped to his leg under the table, sliding up and squeezing. Strong fingertips teased over the achingly sensitised metal of his inner thigh, bold and inquisitive at once.

As though Galvatron was as keen on this idea as he was.

Cyclonus bit his lip, swallowing a moan that would have been far too wanton for this early in negotiations. Part of him dearly wanted to fight back, to make Galvatron pry his thighs open and _take_ that touch by force if he wanted it; but he was all too aware that the line between fishing for rough play and rejecting someone by accident was dangerously narrow. They'd only met each other tonight. At least at first he needed to show willing enough to get what he wanted-

"So," Galvatron said, and his voice was a wonderful, wicked rough-edged growl that made Cyclonus's port pulse and his struts quiver. " _Am_ I taking you home or will the nearest dark alley do?"

He felt that suggestion hit somewhere low and deep inside him and his engines spun up in an involuntary thrum of response. Galvatron 'facing him against an alley wall was a whole new twist on his earlier fantasising and it sounded like a hell of an upgrade. "Know any good alleys around here?" was the best response he could come up with on the spur of the moment.

"As a matter of fact, yes I do." Galvatron grinned at him. "Want to come?"

As double entendres went that was as subtle as a bolt between the optics, but Cyclonus shuddered all the same. "Pit yes," he managed, staggering to his feet as Galvatron moved to haul him out of their booth. He could barely believe his luck.

True to his word, Galvatron dragged him down a very dark and very deserted alley only half a block from the bar. And then he shoved Cyclonus into a rusty-black, rain-slick wall and pinned him there, under the flicker of dying neons and the sullen glow of Alpha Noir's ever-night sky, and Cyclonus gasped at the jolt of arousal and submission-need that shot through him.

Which only prompted Galvatron to start touching him in earnest, powerful hands running eagerly over his armour, sending heat and tension and shivers of want flooding through his systems. "Damn," Galvatron breathed, his voice thick and rough with desire in turn. "I wasn't thinking about getting laid when I came out tonight, but fine, change of plans." He looked Cyclonus in the face, his expression sharp even through the lust blazing in his optics. "Tell me how you like it," he urged, low and eager. "Give me a few pointers. I want to make you come so hard your knees won't hold you up for a week."

Cyclonus shuddered, bucking against Galvatron's touch. "Hard," he panted. "Rough. Force me. Don't hold back." He groaned as Galvatron nodded understanding. "And," he sucked in a breath through his intakes, "do bear in mind I once shot a mech through the lasercore while his spike was still inside me for calling me shareware." He showed his dentae in a grin. "If that's a turnoff for you then get out of here right now."

Galvatron's optics widened. " _Damn,_ " he said. "What was that mech's malfunction?" He pressed in hungrily against Cyclonus, still caressing him with strong, rough touches that forced Cyclonus to lock his knee joints because if he didn't they were going to buckle from sheer need. "Look at you! Shareware, nothing." He dropped his voice to a near whisper, his lips right by Cyclonus's audial. "You're a weapon forged, you're _dangerous_ , do you have any idea how hot that is?!"

And that went straight to his spark, let alone the effects it was having in other places. Just because Cyclonus liked to be used hard and play-forced and rough-handled, that didn't make him any less a fighter, any less proud, any less his own mech; and, borderline miraculously, Galvatron had just made it very clear that he _saw_ that. Maybe he really was going to get everything he wanted, _how_ he wanted it, just this once. "You're into that, then?" he murmured, with a grin.

"Makes you _just_ my type, trust me. And don't worry, if you want it hard I'll give it to you hard," Galvatron promised him. "I'm sick and tired of hooking up with mechs who ask me to hold back on them, so if you aren't going to then I swear I'll make you scream." His hand slid between Cyclonus's thighs, rough fingertips pressing at his panel seams. "Come on, open up for me..."

He'd have liked to make a fight of that, to make Galvatron force him to it with whatever blend of pleasure and pain the other mech's ingenuity could devise, but he was too drunk and too desperate to try that hard. He snapped both panels back with a gasp of relief.

And was instantly rewarded with Galvatron sinking two fingers into his port with no warning whatsoever, and _oh that was perfect_.  He bucked, panting, hitching his thighs apart - he was already so slick inside with lubricant oil that the only pain was the good kind, and he cursed in fervent approval. " _Ahh_ \- mmh, skip the foreplay, give me your spike dammit... you don't need to prep me..."

Galvatron laughed, low and wicked and utterly self-assured. "You haven't seen what you're getting yet," he teased. "Trust me, even you'll want a couple of fingers first." Suiting action to word, he pumped those fingers inside Cyclonus, crooking them to tug on Cyclonus's internal sensors.

"You arrogant- _nnnnh!_ Ohhh, yes, like that..." He writhed at the burst of rough-edged pleasure. "I swear to the void though if you don't ram it in right now you're going to be the next mech I shoot for disappointing me - _oh_..."

" _Fine,_ " and Galvatron's growl almost made him overload on the spot. "Face the wall." He pulled back for just long enough to twist Cyclonus around, mechhandling him with thrilling, terrifying ease. Cyclonus gasped as his chestplate hit the rusting metal in front of him and eagerly thrust his hips back, offering his port for whatever Galvatron intended to fill it with.

He heard the click of Galvatron's connector panel opening and the noise of metal sliding over metal, and the rough sound of Galvatron's cooling systems kicking into high gear. And then something hard and slick and forgefire-hot was pressed against his port rim, and he jumped in anticipation before Galvatron growled " _Here,_ " and pushed.

Pit, that cannon wasn't compensating for _anything_. Cyclonus just managed not to scream, remembering they were technically in public, but he didn't even try to suppress the involuntary aura-burst of _yes dammit yes give that to me_. Galvatron's fields flashed with lust and delight in response and tangled deliciously with his, and Cyclonus moaned and arched back to let Galvatron do whatever the hell he wanted.

Which turned out to be "pound Cyclonus like a steamhammer". By the third thrust he'd had to lock his knees and try to forget about them; by the fifth the only things holding him up were the wall and Galvatron's hands on his hips. The gunmech was pulling him back onto every thrust, _using_ him, filling him until metal strained every time. And on top of that he was leaning over Cyclonus's back to talk dirty to him and it was the _right_ kind of talking dirty, a breathless, wonderful mix of flattery and threats and promises _not to stop_ , and Cyclonus gasped and cursed and demanded _harder deeper more_ and it was utterly perfect. Static was bursting white behind his optics with every thrust, his capacitors were starting to strain against their interlocks, his whole frame was soaking in the pleasure of being forced and held and filled and he was so close-

-and then Galvatron paused, hilt-deep in him, still rocking his hips teasingly to press against Cyclonus's charge plate and the sensor points deep inside him. "Ooh," he murmured, as though he'd just been struck by inspiration. "Your charge gets caught _here_ , doesn't it?" He ran a fingertip along the crackling edge of Cyclonus's wing.

Cyclonus had been about to swear at him for stopping, but lost the words in a cry of shocked delight at that touch. His wing edges did catch charge until they sparked when he was being pleasured like this, but most of his more casual partners never picked up on it. "Nnnh-! Ahhh yes _oh touch me there that's good-_ "

"Try this," Galvatron said with a grin Cyclonus could hear, and then he leaned in close and bit the top edge of Cyclonus's wing. In the same moment, he reached under Cyclonus's body and grabbed his connector.

And Cyclonus overloaded harder than he could remember in years. He would've been satisfied enough with just a straight-up port overload; but nothing could match the feeling of a real voltage drop when your charge actually had somewhere to go, and in this case that _somewhere_ was through Galvatron's fingers where they bridged across his spark pins and squeezed his connector tight. The sensation of his wing edge crumpling under Galvatron's dentae was just the perfect finishing touch. He bucked, clenched, gasped, and then Galvatron snarled in triumph and-

-everything went white. For a horrifying moment Cyclonus thought he'd shorted out something critical, and then his systems caught up as they were flooded with Galvatron's charge and he screamed in pleasure until Galvatron's free hand clamped briefly over his mouth. The bigger mech was still shuddering and rutting into him in greedy little thrusts as he rode out his own overload, and as soon as Cyclonus could unlock his tensor cables he melted in bliss around Galvatron's connector to let him do it. "Ah... hah... oh..."

Galvatron let his weight settle against Cyclonus, pinning him negligently to the wall. " _Mmmh._ " He sounded thoroughly delighted. "Scratched your itch yet?"

His tone was verging on outright fondness. Cyclonus could feel the heat pouring off him and the backwash of scorching air from his vents and he relaxed into all of it, grateful. " _Hhhh_... you were okay." He waited a beat for Galvatron to splutter, and then laughed. "That was glorious. Thanks."

"Well, you didn't pull a gun on me even once, so I figured I was doing something right." He let go of Cyclonus's connector and shook out his oil-slicked fingers. "Hah, can't feel my hand. You're rated higher than you look, aren't you?"

" _I_ am? I can't feel anything from my hips to my plastron. I thought you'd killed me for a minute when you came." He hoped his tone made it clear that that wasn't remotely a criticism. "I know you're an artillery build but _really?_ "

"Usually I short-charge," Galvatron admitted. "For most people. But you said you wanted it, so you got it." His voice was a rumble of satiated pleasure. "Pit, that felt good. Thanks."

"I regret nothing." Cyclonus sighed in contentment. "Except maybe that I didn't last longer." The thought of straightening up from this wall and having to lose Galvatron's weight against him and the blissful pressure of Galvatron's connector still sheathed inside him was a depressing one.

Galvatron chuckled. "Want to go again?"

"...are you serious?"

Pressed together as they were, he felt Galvatron shrug. "I'm good for it," the gunformer said, his voice low and rough and sounding entirely like he meant it.

Cyclonus's circuits tingled with renewed charge, and he decided he was long overdue for a reckless decision. "Me too, but how about not here? I've got a place in a boarding house in the port quarter. Come back there with me."

"Did you say a boarding house or a bawdy house?"

Cyclonus burst out laughing, which felt simultaneously awkward with Galvatron's connector still inside him and strangely, utterly comfortable. "Same difference by the time I'm through with you," he promised, although he staggered as they disentangled themselves from each other and he tried to stand on his own feet again. "Coming?"

"I damn well hope so!" Galvatron retorted, with an entirely shameless grin.


End file.
